Misunderstanding
by fate of the agarwaen
Summary: A little girl is going trick-or-treating, followed by an older boy who takes all her sweets. Someone really should deal with him.


**Prompt from Benaiah's Inn, Halloween themed, but I was unable to finish it in time...ah well.**

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"Twick or Tweet!"

Eyes dancing in glee in a too-thin face, her long but thin and lifeless blonde hair done up in two buns either side of her head – one perpetually coming undone, first the right and then the left _–_ the beaming three-year-old held up her small plastic pumpkin bucket with shaking hands and chirped the Halloween refrain over and over, at every house receiving adoring and heartbroken coos and sweets enough to fill her bucket to the brim and over. At every house, when the door closed, the older boy who followed her every footstep – face hidden behind a snarling dragon mask and draped in a long black cloak, a toy sword in one hand – would silently step forward and hold out his much larger bucket, into which the girl would empty hers before moving on, pushing the brightly-coloured bands that circled her bony left wrist back under her costume's sleeves again.

As he collected her sweets after yet another house, an angry shout from behind them made the girl jump in fright and drop her bucket with a startled squeal and the boy spin round with sword raised. Standing at the bottom of the road were two more boys, looking to be a little older than the dragon-masked one, glaring at him.

"That's stealing!" one of them shouted, stepping forward. He'd dressed up as a rather convincing Legolas, complete with bow and toy arrow, and he aimed his bow at the first boy. Behind him, his friend nodded in agreement, though obviously hampered by the overlarge and too heavy boxing gloves he wore, as well as their own bucket of sweets.

"Give her back her sweets," the archer ordered, stepping closer and making threatening motions with his bow and arrow. "We don't like thieves!"

Silently the dragon-masked boy held his bucket behind his back and moved forward as well, holding his toy sword out. He shook his head firmly. Behind him the girl cowered on the pavement, putting her thin hands over her ears in fright at the loud voices.

"It's alright, little girl," the boxer called at her, "we'll get your sweets back, don't worry!"

"Yeah, we will," his friend agreed, drawing his bow back fully. "I'll give you one last chance," he added, addressing the dragon-masked boy, "and then we'll beat you for it!"

In answer their adversary put his bucket down behind him and stepped forward again, now only a foot or so away from the other two. He raised his sword with both hands and pointed it at the archer, making his point very clear. The Legolas-costumed boy scowled, furious.

"Fine then," he snapped, and shot the arrow at his opponent. It missed and clattered onto the pavement behind him. Before he could do anything the dragon-masked boy had charged him, swinging his sword at his shoulder. Within moments the two were locked in a vicious scuffle, punching and clawing at each other. Although smaller than the archer, the first boy somehow managed to get the upper hand and managed to knock the elder boy over, only for the boxer to finally discard gloves and bucket and jump on him in turn. Together the two elder boys managed to pin the dragon-masked boy down and knelt over him, trying to force him to submit.

"Come on," the archer cried breathlessly, pulling the boy's hair where it had come out from under his mask as his friend slapped their enemy in the face, "just say you'll give her sweets back and we'll let you go-ow!"

He stared up in confusion at the little girl, who'd just whacked him over his head with her pumpkin bucket. She glared at him angrily, her hollow cheeks flushed and her lower lip quivering, and hit him again.

"Ow!" the archer yelped, not understanding what was going on. "Stop it, we're helping you!"

She hit him again, then dropped the bucket and pushed him feebly.

"Ge' off my bruffer!" she squeaked angrily. "Weave him awone!"

The archer and the boxer shared shocked looks, then stared in horror down at the boy they'd just attacked.

"Your brother?" the boxer said, just as the dragon-masked boy spoke for the first time.

"Lalaith, no," he said urgently. "Lalaith, calm down!" He started struggling hard, and the other two boys toppled off unresistingly. Quickly he got to his knees and cupped the little girl's cheeks. "It's okay, Lalaith," he said, pulling her into a hug. "Calm down, please."

The girl sniffled a little, patting at his face with her delicate hand. "Tu'win hurt," she said plaintively.

"Shhh," the boy murmured, "it's alright. It was just a bit of fun, I'm not really hurt. See?" he pulled his mask off and smiled at her, carefully turning his face to hide the reddening on his cheek from the boxer's slap.

"That's your sister?" the archer said softly, his face burning red with embarrassment.

The boy turned towards him, coaxing the girl to look as well.

"Yes," he said. "I'm Turin, and this is my little sister, Lalaith. Say hello, Lalaith." The girl frowned and shook her head, clinging to her brother tightly. The archer winced under her accusing eyes.

"I'm Mablung, and that's Beleg," the boxer replied, rubbing the back of his head. "We're so sorry, we thought you were making her give you her sweets..."

"Yeah, sorry," Beleg added, "we really should have thought first."

A small smile creased Turin's face, and he proffered a hand. "It's alright," he answered. "I'd probably have done the same."

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 **This story did not want to end well. This was my best compromise.  
**

 **Lalaith canonically dies at three/four of disease brought by the Black Breath of Morgoth; I tried to show that in this modern AU she's very, very ill (terminally, actually, but that was hard to get across) to reflect that.**


End file.
